


Pacing

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Fighting Kink, Hate Sex, Inspired by Music, Public Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:43:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leave the gun; take your pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pacing

**Author's Note:**

> I've written five fics in four days; don't talk to me about titles.
> 
> [Bubblegum Bitch by Marina and the Diamonds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9lAyu9-ETE)

“What the hell were you thinking!?”

Pacer doesn’t reply- doesn’t even make eye contact. He keeps walking.

“The fucking NCR! King and I are working our asses off trying to get them to like us, and you stage a shootout!”

“Don’t you ever shut up?” he bellows.

She jogs in front of him, and stops, arms crossed angrily. “People _died_ , Pacer. Kings died.”

He glares, but walks around her. Next thing he knows, she’s jabbed a fist into his spine. “Agh! You little-” he huffs, and goes for his gun- to find the holster empty- “bitch!”

He whirls around, and stares down the muzzle. “Looking for this?” Erin sneers.

He doesn’t put his hands up; he punches her in the jaw, yanks his gun away, and runs.

He ran out of bullets in the fight with the NCR.

“Get back here, you sprightly fucker!” she yells, sprinting after him. He skids over the rubble, while she steers around it, and when he races past Cerulean Robotics, he checks if she’s still behind him, and the Courier, face twisted up in rage, throws herself and tackles him. Hitting the cracked pavement knocks the breath out of Pacer’s lungs, and 10mm out of his hand. He wiggles out from underneath her before she can lock in that chokehold, and scrambles to his feet, which is especially hard, considering Erin’s latched into the back of his jacket like a Strip girl hangs off her sugar daddy. Actually, forget he made that analogy.

He manages to hook a foot around his gun before she gets her footing and throws him, and he kicks the 10mm the way he’s getting pushed.

Six goes for a jab in the stomach, but he jumps back from it, takes a clip to his guard arm, and a straight to the chest. The hook to his face sends him spinning into a brick wall. Battered, he doesn’t get much of a fight in when she grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back. They’re about the same height, so it’s not far for eye contact.

The Courier catches her breath a moment, and Pacer’s tucked his arm in, readying to elbow her in the gut when she pants, “ _Fuck_ you look hot right now.”

He scrunches his eyebrows together. “You crazy bitch!”

“Yeah, and you’re a fuckwad, but I still wanna bang you.”

Pacer wrenches out of her grasp, and pushes her against the wall, pushing his lips to hers. Erin gets one hand on the back of his neck, the other fisted in the front of his shirt, while Pacer puts a hand to her breast, then unzips her leather jacket to get to it. There’s a little there- more than you’d think from the giant rectangle she wears- and a waist too. She clamps her teeth on his lower lip, and pulls, palming him before sliding that hand down the front of his pants. Pacer groans, and grabs her ass- damn, is she packing.

Six is high on hormones, trying to get her own pants off at the same time as his, so he whips out, and pushes in with jeans halfway down her thighs. It’s not a good angle- hell, half the time he can’t tell if he’s inside her or just between her thighs with how slick she is- but he’s a little too adrenaline-drunk to care. They’re sliding down the wall, though, so after a few minutes she gets fed up and shoves him to the ground, pulling her pants a little past her knees before settling down.

She pulls her jacket off about the same time Pacer pushes up his sleeves, sun down and desert cooling while they heat up. She starts to tire with only a few minutes more, legs still pinned together and neither of them about to fix that, so Pacer picks up the thrusts.

“Come on, Pace, I know you Jet. Can’t you go any faster?”

The rock in his spine, one of his eyes swelling shut where she hit him, he could deal with, but that’s the last straw. He flips her around and lays into the Courier, and although she starts laughing, it’s not long before she’s moaning, and he is, too. “Fuck, Pace, you’re gonna wake the whole damn neighbourhood.”

“Shut your face.” he growls, and wraps a hand around her throat. She’s not happy about that, but the position they’ve fallen into doesn’t give her much to do about it. She goes for his face, but he leans back, and she ends up clawing stubbed nails into the stubble on his chin. Cold metal pressed to his abdomen. He looks down to see a 10mm in her hand, and a sharp glare in her eyes.

“It’s not loaded.” Pacer confesses, but lets go anyway, because he’s too close to lose traction. Erin gasps, and puts her hand above her head, gun held loosely, and _fuck_ is that sexy. He’s gone.

“You talk shit, but you _cannot_ keep your fucking mouth shu- fuck!”

Suddenly that rock’s in his back again as she shoves him off, and that gives him a great view of the two thugs rushing at them. It takes three shots before she hits one of them, but after that, she doesn’t miss again. Erin pants. Pacer pushes himself up on his elbow, and looks around.

His gun’s sitting over by a pile of rubble. She’s got her own 10mm.

Pacer comes terrifyingly close to catching himself in his zipper as he clambers to his feet. He’s halfway to the School of Impersonation by the time she gets her pants up.

His gun stays on the sidewalk.


End file.
